


Search and Rescue

by strange_Selkie



Series: Beacon Hills Party City's Birthday Fest of the Damned [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fire and Rescue AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_Selkie/pseuds/strange_Selkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short birthday fic for my lovely wife, who requested Sterek with Stiles in Peril. Originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Search and Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthrami (notmissmarple)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmissmarple/gifts).



Stiles can’t read Derek’s face. It’s not just that if given a choice between emotion and a sucking chest wound, Derek will choose the pneumothorax every time. It’s that Derek’s brows are rimed with plaster, dark blood edges along his cheekbone, and he’s got his eye on Stiles through maybe a ten-inch gap in the fall of rubble and rebar that’s stealing Stiles’ air.

“Stiles!”  There’s a long drop between them to muffle the sounds, but Stiles can hear Derek moving debris, probably with his bare hands, and the things he hears landing on Derek’s side are _heavy_ and the things that keep landing on Stiles are sharp, hard, and falling _fast._ Derek’s working at this as if failing would kill him (as opposed to killing Stiles), and now Stiles can hear digging. Not the sound of fallen earth and cement shifting under a shovel, _digging,_ as a large, angry dog would do; quicker, and surer, soft-silent and with paws, which would be hard for Captain Hale to explain to his team.

It means he hasn’t waited for the team. So Stiles’ just-pre-asphyxia wit may be the only thing keeping them alive.

“Stiles!”

 “Here,” he says, strong and loud, a chestful of breath he can’t spare just to show Derek he’s mostly intact, and then he goes into his dance. “Hey, could you just, could you do me a favor?”

_Bits_ stop falling down onto Stiles. “Yeah,” Derek calls down to him, breathless. “Yeah, anything.”

“Could you, ah, can you maybe shout _Scully,_ because I’ve always had this fantasy—“

“Fuck. You,” Derek gets out, but he is laughing, he _is,_ and Stiles can hear short-wave static and well, at least the big bad wolf brought down a radio, and a voice that might be Boyd’s—cut by dust and distance, and with the ringing in his ears now, Stiles isn’t sure—is saying the team’s ten minutes out.

_Ten minutes,_ and Stiles forgets Derek, okay, not _all_ of Derek, but he forgets Derek’s there, moving heaven and earth and a fuck ton of fallen house to get to him, and Stiles knows there’s maybe four minutes of air left with him in the cold, in the dark, in this cavity in what should be a perfectly friendly cellar except this is fucking _Beacon Hills_ , and Stiles’ internal monologue has flipped completely and solidly fucking well over into panic.

“ _Stiles_!”

 

 

He wakes, for the thirty-fourth time since meeting Derek Hale, in the pastel-curtained quasi-comfort of Beacon Hills Hospital. There’s a dinky pulse ox monitor on his finger and one of his wrists is strapped, probably broken to break his fall, but Stiles can see, hear, breathe, and track his unparalyzed extremities, so he gives this outing a seven on Stilinski’s Survivability Scale.

Just off to his left someone is chewing, slowly and thoughtfully and with noises that make Stiles reflect he hasn’t eaten in…umpty. He turns to Scott to demand his rightful share of the goods—

Derek is there, pretzeled painfully into a hospital chair too narrow for his frame. He sees Stiles’ eyes on him almost before Stiles is looking, and he hides the – _oh, God, dude, dude, no_ – gaudy bag of Beggin’ Strips like they’re porn. Stiles is about to tell Derek straight out that habits like that do nothing for his inner alpha, but comes the slow, tentative, warm weight of Derek’s cut-knuckled hand against Stiles’, and Derek speaks first.

“Hey, Scully.”


End file.
